No Shit Sherlock
by RainThestral93
Summary: John's eyebrows shot up his forehead. "Sherlock, you do know what day it is today, right?" He cocked his head, regarding John with a look of intense curiosity. "February the 14th, is it not?" "Yes," John chuckled, "Valentine's day?" He was met with a blank stare. "Please tell me you haven't deleted Valentine's day? You're not that much of a non-sentient being, are you?"


**A/N:** Little bit of Valentine's fluff here for you lovely Johnlock Fans. I hope you like it, feedback is always very much appreciated - Beth :) xx

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John drummed his fingers impatiently on the work surface, waiting for the kettle to boil.

"John, can you stop that? I'm trying to read."

John peeked his head round the corner, into the sitting room, where sure enough Sherlock Holmes was sat crossed legged, an extremely thick tome in his lap.

"Sorry," John shrugged apologetically, as the kettle flicked off and he poured the water into his cup. "Tea, Sherlock?"

He got no answer, for his flatmate was clearly to engrossed in his new reading material to hear the offer.

"Sherlock, do you want a cup of tea?" It was a wonder John didn't lose his mind and shoot his flatmate, at times. He had the patience of a Saint, Mycroft frequently remarked. John agreed.

"Mhmm."

"Is that a yes or a no?"

"It's a whatever, I'm trying to read."

"No need to be rude. It's just you normally complain if I don't make you one but the amount of cold cups of tea you leave lying around – it's enough to drive a man insane."

Sherlock pursed his lips and cocked his head, regarding John with curiousity. Such a petty thing to get worked up about – John knew Sherlock didn't mean ill when he failed to drink the cups that were lavished on him so kindly by both Mrs Hudson (despite her claims of not being his housekeeper) and himself – there was clearly something bothering his friend.

"Stop it," John sulked.

Sherlock quirked an eyebrow, amused. "Stop what?"

"You're doing the look," John remarked pointedly, gesturing the mirror that hung about the fireplace. "The "we both know what's going on here" face."

Sherlock supressed a smirk. "What's wrong, John, you're all angsty?"

"Angsty?" John wrung his hands, clearly nervous about something. Sherlock wondered what on earth had got him so on edge.

"John," Sherlock demanded, "Tell me what's wrong."

A sigh. Then the hair ruffling, and the fixing of that dreadful knitted jumper – and finally an explanation. "I've got a date tonight."

Sherlock felt like he'd been punched in the gut, but as ever, his face remained poker straight, and he feigned disinterest. "So?"

"So, er," John coughed. "It's with a man."

Sherlock dropped his book on the floor, and it fell with an almighty "thwack".

John immediately tried to change the subject, judging by his flatmate's response.

"What're you reading?"

"A compilation of French Murders." Sherlock's tone was curt, and he tried to keep his surprise out of his voice; he hadn't known that John was interested in men – he was such a womaniser, and had so many girlfriends that Sherlock was barely able to keep track of their names (more through lack of trying, than anything else).

"You can read French?" John's voice lilted in surprise.

Sherlock stared at him blankly, "Thousands of French children can, John, it's hardly that big a deal."

"I –" John stopped whatever he was going to stay and stared at his friend, perusing his features in an attempt to read him. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." Sherlock snapped, pulling his feet up onto the sofa, and laying backwards.

An uncomfortable tension began to build in the room.

"So," Sherlock began, drawing his words out. "A date, huh?"

John nodded, lips pursed.

"A date with a man."

Another nod.

"I was under the illusion that we were going out for dinner tonight." The detective sniffed, clearly affronted.

John's eyebrows shot up his forehead. "Sherlock, you do know what day it is today, right?"

He cocked his head, regarding John with a look of intense curiosity. "February the 14th, is it not?"

"Yes," John chuckled, "Valentine's day?"

He was met with a blank stare.

"Please tell me you haven't deleted Valentine's day? You're not that much of a non-sentient being, are you?"

Sherlock looked at him with scorn. "Sentiment is for the weak minded, John."

"But it's _Valentine's_ _Day_!" John exclaimed.

"And I care because?"

"Sherlock have you ever had a girlfriend?" John's tone dropped, quieter, and laced with intrigue.

Sherlock Holmes took what seemed like an eternity to push a curl away from his forehead, before spitting, "No."

John swallowed. "A boyfriend, then?"

Sherlock preferred to stare at the ceiling than answer his friend's question.

"Sherlock?" John didn't like it when Sherlock shut himself away in his little mind box, it was always so hard to break him out of it.

"Sherlock have you ever had a relationship of any kind?"

Sherlock stared defiantly at the ceiling, and the paintwork glared back.

"Sherlock?" John got up from his chair and perched on the end of the sofa, obstructing his friend's view so that he had no choice but to look him in the face.

"No John, I have never engaged in any "relationship" of which you seem to rate so highly; I've never been interested in a physical relationship with another human being in my life until –" Sherlock's brain caught up with him, and he stopped, fully aware that he'd probably already said too much.

John's voice was erring on the side of caution, but there was a note of hope, wonder, possibility in his tone when he spoke. "Until what, Sherlock?"

Further seconds passed.

"Irene Adler?" John suggested, his voice taking on a more downhearted tone.

"Irene Adler?" Sherlock scoffed. "My, my John, you really are such an idiot."

Hurt, John stood up and made to retreat to the kitchen where he could think – that, and wash up his now finished mug.

"Stop." The single word was barely audible but John had impeccable hearing. He halted.

"I didn't mean that, John." Sherlock sighed. "I mean you're so bloody blind it's ridiculous, sometimes. I wonder what it's like to have such a simple mind…" he trailed off once the look of contempt John was throwing him registered.

Sherlock Holmes spoke calmly, evenly. "I've never been interested in a physical relationship with another human being in my life until I met you, John."

John stared at Sherlock with wide, blazing eyes, wrought with confusion mingling with desire for the man he'd lusted after since their very first meeting.

"You want… me?" John asked, in complete bemusement.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Yes, you silly man, I want you."

And in two short strides, he closed the gap between them.

Sherlock's hands bunched John's pyjama shirt in his fists as he drew the shorter man towards him, his hands roaming his chiselled torso with desire. His lips found John's and they caressed them gently, cautiously at first, but then growing more confident he began to explore, to nip gently at John's bottom lip, to tangle his tongue with John's in a battle for dominance. John moaned into his mouth and the entire sensation reverberated throughout his body, and he purred contently as John plied his mouth quite expertly.

When they finally broke apart, out of a need to breath rather than desire to break the kiss, they stared at each other with dilated pupils and ragged breathing.

"John?" Sherlock queried, his voice deep with longing.

"Yes, Sherlock?"

"You are going to cancel your date, tonight, right?" For the first time in his life, Sherlock Holmes could have been described as nervous. He wanted John Watson all to himself – he didn't like sharing.

"No shit, Sherlock," John chuckled, and reached up to bring Sherlock's lips back to his for another kiss, falling to pieces in the detective's arms…


End file.
